Them Crooked Vultures
by lexi'ssorryforthis
Summary: Lucifer decides he wants to re-enact the deeds of Caligula with Sam in the Cage. Think of it as anti-Samifer. WARNING: SLIGHTLY GRAPHIC NON-CON, TORTURE, AND I REALLY HOPE THAT COVERS IT! PLEASE DON'T COME AT ME WITH TORCHES AND PITCHFORKS! (There is no comfort, you've been warned.) Edited 3/8 for screaming inconsistencies.


**AN1: Oh shit, Sammy I'm so, so sorry!**

**AN2: If I had any sort of sense, I'd delete this from my computer, but I clearly just want the attention, or maybe the chance to say that this is what happens when a virgin writes non-con. **

"Do you know the story of Caligula?" Lucifer asks Sam. It's been six months, hell-time, since they've fallen into the Cage, and Lucifer is absolutely grinning with the new torture he's devised for what was supposed to be his willing vessel.

Sam Winchester, at the moment, is hanging by his wrists in front of Lucifer, trying to ignore the bite of the chains as his body stubbornly continues to obey the laws of gravity. He's covered in blood, some from the chains cutting into him, but most from everything that Lucifer has done to him so far. His clothes are long gone, torn to shreds within the first week to the point where they simply fell off, and if anything he's only glad that the fabric can't irritate his wounds any more (not that the Devil hasn't let Sam feel himself die a hundred times by now from all manner of infections, not that he isn't going to continue to let him feel the burn of a few that he hasn't tried yet). Under the blood, it's hard to find a square inch of Sam that isn't mottled with bruising - some surface level, some deep. A myriad of slices adorn his body, from tiny scratches that he barely felt to deep gouges across his face and chest and abdomen that hit every possible vital organ and made him scream until he had no voice left. Sam doesn't answer Lucifer's question, only raises his head a millimeter to acknowledge that he spoke, because Lucifer never likes feeling ignored.

"Well," Lucifer continues jovially as he snaps his fingers, dissolving the chains and letting Sam crash to the ground with a pained groan, "Caligula was the third emperor of Rome, and holy crap did he like sex. I mean, this guy slept with every one of his officers' wives and bragged about it, fucked his sisters and prostituted them, and even turned his palace into a brothel!" He gives Sam a sharp kick to the ribs just for shits and giggles, smiling when the sound of bone snapping reaches his ears a fraction of a second before Sam's yelp of pain. The body (soul) on the floor curls further into itself, breathing labored and heavy. "But the part that really fascinates me is his habits with little boys. He would take these boys, fuck them good and hard, and then chuck them off a cliff like so many old mattresses!"

Lucifer snaps his fingers again, and this time the nature of the Cage changes, from a small, dimly lit room full of knives and chains and meat hooks, to a seaside cliff, complete with a fresh, salty breeze and the calling of seagulls. "Isn't this nicer?" he grins down at Sam, who is edging backwards on his hands and feet with a look of realization dawning on his face.

"No, no, no, no, you can't, no…" Sam's voice is only a terrified whisper, but even if he had the full use of his vocal chords he doesn't think he'd be able to speak louder.

"Yes, yes I can," the Devil speaks gently, but the hands that grab Sam's legs and pull him closer are rough and forceful and unyielding. He drags his victim until he's standing over Sam's chest rather than at his feet, and flips him so he lies on his stomach, then pins his arms behind his back with inhuman strength. Sam's futile struggles against his hold make him smile, and he gently smoothes hair out of Sam's face, grinning wider when the man under him freezes and looks at him with wide, terrified eyes.

"Why?"

"We were supposed to share one body, Sammy. You ruined that, so now this is the closest we can get." Lucifer wills his own clothes away and shoves himself inside. For him, it's wonderful. He barely even has to push because Sam's squirming is doing most of the work, and he rides the hulk of struggling muscle like a friggin' horse. Lucifer at least manages to resist the urge to wave an imaginary cowboy hat, instead bending low so his face is in Sam's, and cheers him on. "You're very good at this, Sammy… Keep it up, oh yes that's the way to do it!... You knew this was what you were saying yes to…"

For Sam… Well what can you say about your soul getting raped because your body was ripped away from you? His arms are still held behind his back, but he fights and kicks and yells and twists and squirms - even though he knows it's useless - anything to not have to _just take it_. He screws his eyes shut when he feels Lucifer lean down onto him, flesh (soul) on bruised and broken flesh (soul), but he can't do anything to block the Devil's words. The self-hating part of him can't help but agree – he did say yes, after all.

With a moan that revolts Sam to his very core, Lucifer spills out inside him, and Sam breathes out a shaky, sobbing, sigh of relief that it's over. But he should have known that it wouldn't be that simple, and that Lucifer, being an angel, has far more stamina than he ever had a right to have. Lucifer takes Sam again.

After the third time, Sam's exhaustion wins out. He stops struggling, and Lucifer thrusts harder and deeper to make up for the lack of movement on Sam's part.

After the tenth time, Sam stops cursing and threatening. He starts begging for it to stop instead. Lucifer only coos more disgusting things in his ear.

Just before the eighteenth time, Sam stops begging. He just cries, broken and in pain, into the rocks and sand.

Lucifer takes him a total of thirty one times.

When he finally pulls out of him, Sam doesn't move. His arms drop to his sides, useless and numb, and the tears continue to pour down his face. He never opened his eyes since it started. He does open them, though, when Lucifer's hands grab his shoulders and pull him to his feet. Sam's legs are effectively jello, and Lucifer more drags than walks him to the edge of the cliff. They look over the edge together, and Lucifer whistles.

"If you had just been the willing vessel you were supposed to be, you would have had wings, Sam," the Devil says mournfully, but Sam hears the mocking emphasis on "willing" and cringes. "Bet you wish you had them now!" Lucifer pushes Sam over the edge of the cliff, limbs flailing and searching in vain for something to hold on to as he falls. Sam only thinks about how he wishes he could scream before he hits the rocks and the seawater, body (soul) breaking even more and the salt stinging and burning _everywhere_. He breathes in the water reflexively, but just when he's sure the blackness is going to take him, he hears the snap of an angel's fingers and he's back on the top of the cliff, coughing and sputtering water everywhere and gulping precious oxygen into his lungs.

"Aren't you going to throw me over again?" Sam whimpers when he gets enough air and Lucifer hasn't done so already.

"Nah, that's not as much fun," Lucifer looks over to a part of the Cage that Sam can't see. "Hey, Michael, want a turn?"

**AN3: This is not the headcannons of the Cage that I said I was working on a while ago, but it is the (very sadistic and disturbing) plot bunny that refused to let me finish that story (which will be much tamer I assure you). I have no idea when or why I subscribed to the rape headcannon, but I wish I hadn't!**


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